Hellsgate

by Tim Wellman

  Hellsgate

  Tim Wellman

  This is a work of fiction. Names, places and incidents are the products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, names, places, businesses, trademarks, or events and incidents is purely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2017 by Tim Wellman

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be copied, reproduced, or distributed in any form, print or electronically, without the expressed, written consent of the author, with the exception of brief excerpts used in reviews and news articles.

  -1-

  A Library Frolic

  The sun was blood-red and too hot for a March morning. It had thawed out the ground, making every place except the wooden-planked sidewalk a slippery mess since the ground was still frozen solid just a few inches down. Some of the town street kids had discovered mud-sleying on the hill across from the library, permanently scarring both the lawn and their knees. But at least they were having fun; the town's other five thousand citizens were miserable. The horses and small vehicles were useless in the slurry on the streets, and other than a couple of heavy steam traction engines pulling garbage wagons on their weekly rounds, the town had come to a halt. Businesses were closed; students couldn't make it to their classes. A town with a police force, armed guards, cannons, a small private army, and even tanks and aircraft, was brought to its knees by pleasant weather.

  Welcome to Hellsgate. Even the town sign seemed to droop and bow down in defeat in its bed of dead flowers, saw grass, and red brick framework. The town was founded and named by a handful of prisoners when the asteroids that destroyed civilization around the world granted them early parole through a hole in the fence, but it was pleasant enough now, at least the good side of town, and had been for nearly thirty years. And it was filled with friendly enough folks: tradesmen working in home shops, intellectuals, store owners of various sorts, manual laborers... the usual mix of good, bad, and indifferent attempting to rebuild their little piece of the world. The town council had met at various times through the years hoping to change the name because no one was quite sure why it was named that or even what the word was supposed to imply, but no one could agree on anything everyone liked better, so Hellsgate seemed good enough. Unfortunately, no one could ever agree on paving the streets, either.

  A few patrons milled about the library, one of the few public buildings in town, mostly professors with no students for the day, or people who lived close by and on the accessible side of the street. It was usually packed, but today the pace was more leisurely, with time to simply stroll along until a book presented some interest.

  Doctor Elise Carlisle, the town college's only Anthropology professor, turned from the window and went back to the task at hand. She stacked several more books onto the pile and climbed to the top again, precariously balanced, but still not able to reach what she was after. She jumped slightly, then again, snagged the book, and as she landed the second time, she lost her balance and tumbled to the library floor in a very un-lady-like heap of blonde locks, satin, silk, frills and finery. Luckily no one was watching. Well, that was her belief at first until she realized Doctors Samson and Bretton were staring at her folly.

  "I meant to do that!" she said, trying to quickly regain her composure.

  "You meant to fall?" Dr. Samson said.

  "Absolutely," she said. "It was a physics experiment."

  "But you're an Anthropology professor," Dr. Bretton said. "With a skirt and petticoats ripped right up the back."

  "What?!"

  "Pink is definitely the popular color for panties this year, would you concur, Doctor Samson?"

  "Most certainly, Doctor Bretton. Especially if they're nearly transparent."

  They both managed to duck as Dickinson's 'Life Of A Lilly' went whizzing by their heads. Doctor Bretton was not so lucky with Roberts' 'Fawning Over Fawns'. And not wanting to press his luck with biology another page further, Doctor Samson helped him to his feet and the two young professors made a hasty retreat, laughing all the way out of the library. "Look out everyone! Clumsy Carlisle is back in town!"

  "Shit! Why does this always happen to me? Stupid-assed girly clothes! I shoulda worn my slacks." She used the book shelf to pull herself up, then grabbed the back of her skirt and held it closed as she started to find a quiet corner to lick her wounds. "I don't know why the hell fashion has decided we should all dress like it's 1875." But with her first step, she tripped over a large book and landed face-first on another large book. She lifted herself up to a kneeling position and realized it was the book she had been looking for all along. What she didn't realize immediately was she had forgotten about the tear in her skirt and her sheer pink panties were now on display for all who cared to look. And most everyone in the library cared.

  "Interesting book, Carlisle?"

  "Yeah, it's..." She remembered and quickly flopped over so she was sitting on the floor, but at least in a less revealing position. "Doctor Stevenson." She offered a nonchalant nod as if they were simply passing in the hallway. "How goes your day?"

  "Not nearly as interesting as yours, apparently," he said.

  "Ha ha," she said.

  "Back from your latest adventures in the field so soon?" he said. Everyone associated with the college knew of her many travels and expeditions around the known world, presumed to be serious and sometimes dangerous research investigations, but many considered them more like paid vacations and their voices were starting to get more notice from the Finance Office.

  "Damned university cut off my funds," she said. "I was close to a major discovery, too."

  "A nudist colony along the Southern coastline?" he said. "One of them mailed me a brochure, inviting me to join."

  "No," she said. "Well, yes, but there's something more going on there than just a bunch of naked people playing volleyball."

  "Yeah, I've heard some rumors," he said. "I thought I might check it out some time this summer."

  "Only you would go on a Southern vacation in the summertime," she said.

  "Well, still looks like you got a nice tan before they kicked you out," he said. He took off his long velvet and suede dress coat and held it out. "Here."

  She grabbed it and quickly stood and put it on. "Thanks." She took a deep breath then picked up the book she wanted. "Why are you here? I never see you in the library."

  She was a slender, well-proportioned woman with long straight blonde hair falling over her shoulders when it wasn't properly tied back, as it was today, and pale blue eyes magnified by wire-framed reading glasses. She was a handsome woman in her mid twenties, best described as bookish: beautiful, but obscured by the trappings of her profession.

  "Well, apparently, and mind you this is mostly speculation on my part, when I left the bar last night I went walking around a bit and then started checking doors until I found an open one, came in here, and passed out." He adjusted his plain brown tweed sport coat and buttoned it up over his vest.

  "So, you've been here all night? You know you can be executed for trespassing in this city, right? "

  "Again, speculation, but it does appear I've been here all night," he said. "Sleeping nicely until you woke me up a few minutes ago with your usual grace and feminine charm."

  "So, another typical night for you, then, apart from ending up here?" She carried the heavy book over to a table, not especially concerned whether he followed her or not. "I'll drop off your coat by your office this evening. Thanks again."

  He followed behind her and plopped down in the chair across the table from her. "Won't be there," he said. "I have discovered a really odd thing, at least I have if I didn't just imagine it in a drunken stupor last night. So, I thought I would spend a few sober hours in exploration thi
s afternoon."

  He cocked his head and smiled. He was not a particularly handsome man, slightly worse for wear than most other men in their late twenties, though there was nothing that particularly stood out against him. He was average in almost every way: height, weight, intelligence. But he had a certain charm and swagger that only those accustomed to strong drink in high society could conjure, a boyish smile and posture and a brave streak bordering on carelessness, nurtured, no doubt, from the belief fashioned early in life that his family's money could pull him out of any predicament.

  "A thing, huh?" she said. She pointed. "There's a thing. There's one over there, too. My ass is perched on a thing."

  "Ah, but not an odd thing, Calisle," he said. "The key to the importance of everything in life is the oddity factor." He chuckled. "Like why you wear see-thru panties under a proper Victorian dress."

  She started to say something rude, but censored herself because a few other people seemed to be eavesdropping on their conversation. "I was just starting to get used to stepping over you in the university lounge. Now you've apparently gone insane. Should I call someone for you?" she said, with her nose still stuck in the book. She looked up from her book and over the top of her reading glasses and smiled.

  "The book you're reading," he said, and pointed. "Some long-dead culture from a long-dead civilization."

  "America?" she said. "It's not so long dead, you know. Two generations ago and we would have lived in a concrete and metal world... computers, wireless communication, jet planes, combustion engines... it's all lost now, but it's important to remember where we were so we can get back there some day."

  "Why would we want to get back there?"

  "Well, maybe you don't, but most normal humans do," she said. "You know they had electricity? Think about how that would benefit mankind. Not just the simple little battery powered stuff we have now; they could power up entire cities!"

  "That simple?" he said. "A simple intellectual exercise, life before asteroids pounded the world back to the stone age?"

  "Iron age," she said. "We still have technology, you know."

  "So, can you allow, in that overly focused mind of yours, the possibility of magic?" he said. "Of a world that functions outside the laws of science?"

  "I'm an Anthropologist. I'm open to all the old myths... as myths," she said.

  "If you didn't know harnessed electricity once existed, wouldn't it be magic if you saw it in use?" he said.

  She stared at him for a moment and took off her glasses. "You're acting strange today, even for you. Deep thoughts are not the domain of a metal shop teacher."

  He smiled and shrugged. "An odd thing, Carlisle, an odd thing, remember?" He stood up and stretched his arms. "I need some breakfast, care to join me? My treat."

  "It's nearly dinner time," she said. "Wait, you have money?"

  "I have money."

  "You usually don't have money," she said. "Well, that's not true; you usually have my money that you've borrowed... or stolen."

  "I wrote my father and told him if he didn't send me a bit, I'd move back home," he said. "It came by return post."

  She stood up and motioned him to lead the way through the gray metal shelves and scarred and battered old oak tables and chairs. "I assume your offer forces me to listen to your story?"

  He stopped and allowed her to catch up and then put his arm around her shoulder, not so much in a friendly manner, more a way to pull her as close to him as possible. "What if I told you I discovered the Hellsgate?" he whispered in her ear.

  -2-

  Mystery Meat And Greet

  "I hear the only way this place stays in business is by bribing the town council," Carlisle said. She picked up her fork, examined it closely under the dim gas lighting of the diner, and then used Stevenson's coat to wipe it off. "Remember, it's considered impolite to chase after your food if it runs off your plate."

  "Well, the only other eatery nearby is across the street," Stevenson said. He was staring out the window at the river of mud. "No way to get over there until the ground refreezes tonight unless you brought your rubber boots."

  "Oh well, never look a gift horse in the mouth... even if it's just a bit of the shoulder," she said. She poked at the suspicious piece of meat on her plate. "Reach me the steak sauce, I'm going for it!"

  "It's real," he said, almost in a whisper. He cleared his throat and tapped the table with his fork to get the professor's attention. "The Hellsgate. I found it."

  Carlisle chewed her food and nodded. So, he had found one of the founding fathers' artifacts. She was casually interested. It would make a good paper, she figured. Something to add to her resume if she could write about some piece of unknown history. The town of Hellsgate was backwater. She had a PhD. and ambitions. Perhaps even a large Southern university. "It's some sort of marker or corner stone or something, then? A 'we were here' kinda thing?"

  "No," Stevenson said calmly. He took a bite of steak and pointed at her with his fork. "It's the gateway to hell."

  "Right," she said. "So, this is awkward, then."

  "Is it?"

  "Yes, because they say it's wrong to point and laugh at the mentally deranged," she said. "Oh, what the hell." She pointed and laughed. "You want a Napoleon hat?"

  "Your little world doesn't allow for the supernatural, does it?" he said. "Typical response from the overly educated."

  She was still chuckling. "Oh my god, you're actually serious?!"

  "If I show you something, do you think you can handle it without screaming?" he said.

  "If this involves unzipping your pants, find another audience," she said. "I've seen it before. Not that impressed."

  He reached into his jacket pocket and smiled. "Prepare yourself. This is something I believe mortals were never supposed to see." He looked around the diner which was empty except for a single waitress and the cook, flirting with each other behind the dirty brown counter across the room. Then he held out his hand.

  Carlisle stared for a moment. "A toy?" Then she gasped and fell back in her chair. "It's..."

  "A demon?" Stevenson said. "He allowed the small creature to hop from the palm of his hand and onto the table. The small, scaly monster, bright green with horns like a goat and lizard-like yellow eyes, sniffed the plates and then fell over.

  "It's clockwork?" she said. She poked it with her fork and it jumped up and took a defensive stance, as if expecting a fight. "Shit!"

  "Pretty harmless by itself," he said. "Just like a single bee."

  She took a closer look, careful not to get her face too near the little monster. "You saying you found a hive of these?"

  "Just inside the opening, cave, tunnel, whatever the hell it is," he said. "I think they must be the first guard... lesser demons, maybe, the cannon fodder on the front line." He scooped it up in his hand and put it back in his pocket. "In my state last night, I didn't go further. But I could see beyond them, beyond the opening."

  Carlisle leaned back in her chair and took a deep breath. She fumbled through her small handbag and pulled out a silver case, opened it, and took out a slender cigar and put it between her lips. Before she could react, Stevenson was holding a lit lighter in front of her face. She sucked in a long drag. "Just where is this Hellsgate?"

  He smiled and clicked the lighter closed. "We'll need some supplies first before I show you, proper weapons and instruments; I can handle that part," he said. "You're the brains, you know the folklore and can help identify what we find." He invited himself to one of her cigars, but didn't light it. "We need one other expert; someone who can understand the spiritual part. This place isn't just a hole in the ground. It's religious or something. We need someone who understands that stuff."

  "Like thou shall not steal?" she said, nodding toward the cigar he had taken.

  "Someone who knows and can handle the dark side," he said. "A demonologist, a witch... something. Someone who understands whatever the hell these things are and anything else we meet like them. A w
itch, I reckon they'd be called these days." He lit his cigar and took a puff, and then coughed. "I forgot. I don't smoke."

  "Oh, plenty of those hanging around here," she said with a chuckle. "Can't swing a dead cat without hitting a witch around these parts." She was being sarcastic, but even if he were serious, she couldn't imagine any way to look for a shaman or witch without people questioning her sanity. But, she was certain of one thing; she had to see the Hellsgate. There was something to it; the small creature convinced her of that. It couldn't be a demon, but it was some sort of mutated creature or prehistoric leftover, so that made it important. A scholarly paper, maybe even a book, could almost write itself.

  "Have you got a dead cat?" he said.

  "Not on me."

  "Waitress!" he said, and motioned the girl away from the counter.

  "Good thinking, order one from the menu."

  "Yes sir?" she said. "More tea?" She filled his cup without waiting for an answer.

  "Actually, we're looking for a witch," he said.

  She looked at them both, eyes darting back and forth. "You two into some sorta kinky cosplay er somethin'? Don't look at me; I dressed up like Snow White for Halloween one time, but that was it."

  "Sorry," Carlisle said. "I try to get him out of the asylum at least once a month so he can see how normal people live."

  "We're looking for someone spiritual," he said. "Someone who knows about that sort of thing."

  "Closest thing I know to a real witch is Auntie Kato," the waitress said. "She lives on the outskirts of the poor side of town and sells potions and stuff. Knows all the local lore, too, so she's pretty famous over there."

  "Snake oil, elixirs, pure grain cough medicine?" Carlisle said with a chuckle.

  "Yeah, that's her," the waitress said. "Secret stories about the townspeople, too, I hear, mostly to blackmail them, I guess. But they say she can commune with devils and the dead. Though I ain't never seen it. Most regular people is plum scared of her on account of her being able to turn people into frogs and such."